


Executive Decision

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-01
Updated: 2010-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 06:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The door flew open, and Rodney marched in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Executive Decision

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Cate for inspiration and betaing :D

The door flew open, and Rodney marched in. "I have had enough! That is it, I am done, I am over it, I, I am _sick to the back teeth_ of all this, this idiocy!"

"Good morning, Rodney." John didn't bother to look up from the briefing on the desk in front of him, but the view was soon obscured by the iPad that Rodney shoved under his nose. "Nice to see you, too, Rodney."

"Look at this!" Rodney hissed. At the edge of his vision, John had the vague impression of an angrily quivering mass of husband. John tried to make his eyes unfocus just enough to look at whatever was a mere inch from his face, but he couldn't quite manage it.

"It's, it's... I don't know that I have the words to describe it. Probably there is a word in _German_, which has many consonants amply suited to expressing _rage_, and sometimes I think I should have taken that position in CERN because then I would have had the opportunity to learn some really fitting—"

"Rodney," John said mildly.

The iPad receded from immediately in front of his face, clattering to the desk as Rodney seemed to decide that he needed both hands for whatever he was worked up about. Seven years together, and John still hadn't learned to predict exactly what would set Rodney off on an extended, full body rant—admittedly, neocons were always a pretty good bet, but no one had been expecting the Great War of 1812 Diatribe of '07.

John squinted down at the computer. "What the hell's a picspam?"

"That is exactly my point!" Rodney said, raising his hands in evident exasperation. "Well, it's part of my point—it's certainly at least a tertiary part of my argument, which is multivalent and entirely convincing and opposed to such, such butchering of the English language. Unnecessary neologisms! Much as I've always known that you Americans are prone to committing linguistic atrocities—"

John scrolled idly down the page. "This the point where I remind you that you're an American now?"

"Dual citizen, thank you very much! And that was only to help with your stupid election campaign."

"Greater love hath no man for his husband than to learn the Star Spangled Banner for his sake," John said gravely.

"Thank you!" Rodney said, in tones of great exasperation, then squinted at him. "Are you mocking me?"

John sat back in his chair. "Now why," he said, "when I have a briefing with the Joint Chiefs in a few minutes and a phone call with the British Prime Minister in an hour and a half and three intelligence updates to read between now and then—why on Earth would I be mocking you for bursting in to my office in order to show me.... pictures of me and you?"

Rodney stared at him as if he couldn't quite believe that someone of John's intelligence was capable of breathing with his mouth closed; for a moment, John had a brief, fond flashback to the first time they'd met. "Because it's a _thing_!" he said. "There are whole _websites_ devoted to this sort of thing online! People who spend their time collecting pictures of the two of us being married just because you're The Man now."

"Am not," John said, trying not to pout. He scrolled a little further down, checking out the comments on the post, and was cheered a little bit to see that mas0598 thought the pants he'd worn on Inauguration Day made his butt look cute. "I'm just _presidential_."

"Your attempts at sophistry are unsuccessful with me," Rodney sniffed. "You are not distracting me from the fact that vast hordes of barely literates are... are _cutesifying_ me on the internet."

"Now who's making up words?" John pointed out, with not a little smugness.

"Oh, you think you're so smart, don't you?" Rodney folded his arms in a way that did something very pleasing to the cut of the cloth over his biceps. John felt extra smug.

"Well," he said, "I _am_ the—"

Rodney held up an imperious finger. "Oh, do not even think of using the P word. You know the rule."

The door from the outer office opened a fraction, and Aiden poked his head inside. "Meeting with the Joint Chiefs in five minutes, Mr President. Dr McKay, sir, Ms Cadman is wondering if you'd be kind enough to return to the East Wing."

"Thanks, Aiden," said John, and his aide withdrew.

Rodney jammed his hands into his pockets. "Remind me why I thought hiring that menace as my Chief of Staff was a good idea."

"Now, now, Rodney," John said, rolling back down his shirt sleeves and pulling on his jacket. "Remember, the walls have ears here. Call Laura a menace and she'll hear about it—"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Yes yes, and then she'll sprout wings and rend the flesh from my limbs. I know, we've been over this before."

John cocked an eyebrow at him. "And you say I'm the one who has no self-preservation instinct."

"You ran for the presidency of the United States while a) openly gay, b) married to a Canadian, c) married to a Canadian who happens to be _me_." Rodney ticked off the points on his fingers as he went, before he paused and looked off into the middle distance. "Although given the various fits of apoplexy the campaign induced in Glen Beck, perhaps it was an attempt to preserve this country from the worst batshittery known to humanity. In which case, maybe it was a... but no, you have been known to paraglide, what am I saying."

"That's a totally convincing argument," John said solemnly, walking out from behind his desk. "You're a master of rhetoric, McKay."

"You're an idiot," Rodney said. "Shut up. Also, your tie is crooked. C'mere."

"So masterly," John mumbled snidely, which got him a slap upside the head when he was close enough for Rodney to reach. "Ow."

"Oh please," Rodney said, fingers deftly unknotting John's lucky red tie. "It would take a lot more force for you to feel any blow through that hair of yours."

"You know," John said, schooling his face to all the well-meaning earnestness Teyla had instructed him in before the first of the televised debates, letting his hands come up to rest on Rodney's hips, "there are several highly trained Secret Service people just outside this office. I yell, they come running, and you're in a lot of trouble, buddy."

Rodney sniffed. "I finally got Jennifer and Ronon to go out on a date with one another, so now he owes me one. I think I'm safe."

"Bribing the head of my security detail? I'm shocked."

Rodney succeeded in arranging John's tie to his satisfaction, took half a step forward so that his chest brushed against John's. "Then you don't know me very well, do you?"

"Eh," John shrugged, "so so," and was rewarded with the feel of Rodney's so-familiar mouth against his—the barely-there scratch of stubble, a hint of tongue, the scrape of Rodney's teeth against John's lower lip—with the hitch and catch of Rodney's breath. The line of Rodney's back was warm beneath the cloth of his shirt and _what the hell_, John thought, _executive decision_—the Joint Chiefs could wait another ten minutes.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [untitled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/239931) by [Siria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria)




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